Chance Meeting
by Hikaruu Dark
Summary: It's that day again. Mr. Argent had once killed a beast, but still remembers the friend he had lost with it.  Leaving home to be alone, he runs into the Sheriff who, oddly enough, seems to know a bit about loss himself.


"Celebrating?"

He paused mid gulp for a moment, bright eyes bringing the stranger out of periphery and into focus, before finishing the drink and sliding the glass forward.  
>The day had gone by just as it had the year before. Somber, silent. And just a bit chilly.<br>He hadn't spoken much, save for a 'good morning' to Allison and 'good bye' to his wife on his way through the door. After that it'd just been him and the car, cruising through this town and the next looking for some reason to be there, some excuse to not be at home. Something to take his mind off of the day. Not that he truly wanted to forget.  
>Or be reminded.<br>"Not quite." Was his answer, voice oddly dry in spite of the drink he'd just had.  
>He surprised himself by managing a smile in the stranger's direction. It hadn't felt like an option until now.<br>Maybe the buzz was finally setting in.

In any event the 'stranger' pulled his stool in, holding a finger up to the bartender who simply gave a lazy nod and got to work flipping over a glass and dropping ice. The man must have been a regular.

Probably a local, just some townie. He thought.  
>As the drink was set down, he raised his own chin to request another.<p>

The bartender however, failed to notice. He and the strange man shared a grin before he eased over on an elbow, propping himself up enough to be at eyelevel.  
>"How's it going Sheriff?"<p>

"Same as always."

"No busts? No _stings_?"

"Benny, this is Beacon Hills. You want _stings_, head a little closer to Manhattan."

_Sheriff_?  
>His request faded to the back of his thoughts as he now lost whatever 'buzz' he might have built up. If he was the Sheriff than that meant a couple things. For one, that meant he'd be on the lookout for any lone bar attendants with car keys. And that also meant that he himself was in a predicament.<p>

"Did you want something sir?" The barten- _Benny_ asked. He was standing up again, attention no longer on the Sheriff.

Somewhere in the midst of his inner conflict, the two had finished their exchangeand the spotlight was now on him. Not knowing what to do, he tucked his tongue and quickly thought over his choices.  
>He could leave, but that would most likely get him into trouble when the sheriff eventually caught up with him. After all, he'd had a bit to drink and he had doubts regarding his ability to walk a perfect straight line while completely sober more so now. There was always simply refusing anything more, but he knew as well as anyone that feigning innocence looked the same as being guilty. But he could-<p>

"Another of whatever he was having."

He looked back to the stranger, the Sheriff, who'd now taken Benny's place on the counter, arm propped up and holding his chin. The look on his face was one of complete understanding.  
>"On me." The man added, shooing Benny back to the others down the line with a hand.<br>He raised a brow, deciding to stay put.

"New here?"

"You could say that."

The sheriff bit back what he could see was a smile. There was something about it, something comforting that made him too want to smile.  
>"If I told you I was off duty, would that make this conversation any lighter?"<p>

He did smile at that. And from what he saw, the sheriff seemed to appreciate it.  
>"You'll have to excuse me. Today's not the best for me to be making <em>light<em>."

The other man turned so that they were looking at each other now, and for the life of him he couldn't remember when _he'd_ turned _his own_ body. Either way, the two of them now had a full view of the other's profile.  
>"Would it be rude to ask why?"<p>

As if on cue, Benny returned and set down a tall glass. It barely had a chance to rest before he took it, nearly let it slip with the quickly pooling condensation, and took a short drink.  
>He eyed the Sheriff. He looked friendly enough, clearly so with town members and no doubt a father figure.<br>"I buried a friend today." He said lowly. Going in for another drink, he broke their stare preferring to take a look at the clock on the wall or perhaps the pictures that decorated the mantle between either shelf of wine. He licked his lips, eyes still wandering.  
>"Well, not today. But…"<p>

"But it's still fresh. Like it might as well have been today?"

He turned his head back to the man, suddenly unaware of his status or even the badge that glinted every now and again in the glow of a random table lamp. All he could see was a bit of himself, the way he'd just heard himself in those words. The weight he'd spoken them in, you didn't carry that kind of weight without feeling the pain yourself.  
>"Yeah."<p>

The Sheriff's smile had gone thoughtful, curving into a neutral line that pulled his features into an unreadable expression. Certainly not pity but something in the same realm. Empathy?  
>He wouldn't have time to press it when he was suddenly met with an outstretched palm.<p>

"Stilinski."  
>The smile cracked through.<p>

Although still wary, a habit he couldn't break from even for a moment, he allowed himself a small smile back as he took the palm in his own.  
>"Chris Argent."<p> 


End file.
